Moth and Candle

Why is the moth your lover, O flame, Giving life in a yielding move?

You make its ways the quicksilver’s ways You taught it, what rites of love?

The creature circles around your flare How burnt in your flash of sight!

Does it know life’s peace in the throes of death? Life endures in your ardour bright?

Had your lustre not been in the world’s house of woe The tree of hot love had not been green

Moth sinks before you making its prayer, Frail heart to feel scorching keen.

It must throb like one loving the beauty of old Small prophet! small mountain of fire!

The moth with its urge to envisage the flame! Poor worm, with its light’s desire!